


Crossover

by ecpaulstein



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Original Work
Genre: Dæmons, Not Beta Read, Superpowers, Tags May Change, Trans Character, Updated sporadically, an unholy conglomeration of fandom tropes and original characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-11-18 02:04:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18111029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecpaulstein/pseuds/ecpaulstein
Summary: Hannah Harris is not a girl. He knows this as well as he knows that he likes dogs and cats, his sisters all suck to varying degrees, and Mr. Lim, who teaches fourth period Social Studies to the seventh graders at Riverside Junior High, hates kids, and Hannah especially.





	1. Not Hannah

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-write of Hub World: Arrival. You do not need to have read that first. (In fact, It'd probably be best if you didn't)  
> This work will be very slow going as I feel my way through the necessary changes from the original. Any help or advice would be much appreciated.

Hannah Harris is not a girl.  
He knows this as well as he knows that he likes dogs and cats, his sisters all suck to varying degrees, and Mr. Lim, who teaches fourth period Social Studies to the seventh graders at Riverside Junior High, hates kids, and Hannah especially.  
Hannah is a boy.  
He's known it since third grade, when Hannah J brought her Mom's special book to Show and Tell and read it to the class. Or, at least, she started to read it, before Miss Jackson stopped her. Hannah doesn't remember much about the book, except that there'd been a character who was a Girl Who Wasn't a Boy. It had made sense to Hannah that if there could be Girls Who Aren't Boys, then there could be Boys Who Aren't Girls.  
When he'd tried to ask his mom about it, though, she'd sent him to his room without dinner. It'd been his favorite sister, Jean, who was the second oldest, and who only sucked sometimes, mostly, who'd snuck him a bit of toast that night explained that Such Things were Too Hard For Adults and Best Not Talked About.  
She hadn't said anything about Hannah thinking, though, or talking it over with Declan, who's his Imaginary Best Friend, and also Best Not Talked About. Soon enough, he'd moved on from knowing some people could be One That Isn't the Other, to knowing, deep down in his bones, like Declan says he knows machines, that he, Hannah, is a Boy Who Isn't a Girl.  
When he'd tried to bring this up with Alicia, who was fourth grade best friends with Hannah J, who'd brought The Book to school, and so must understand, she'd only laughed at him, and got all the other kids to laugh too, and to ignore him at recess. That was when he'd realized that some things were Too Hard For Kids, too.  
That was okay, though. Hannah still had Declan.  
It was Declan who brought up the idea just last week that, since Hannah's a boy and not a girl, his name couldn't be Hannah, since Hannah is meant to be a girl's name, and maybe if he has a proper boy's name, people won't laugh, and maybe even talk to him again.  
Hannah is still thinking this over – 'ruminating' Ellie, who's the youngest, Hannah's least favorite sister, and always sucks, calls it – when he enters Mr Lim's class and sets his bag carefully by his desk, mindful of his packed lunch – bologna and cheese, his fourth favorite sandwich. He's about to sit down when his teacher taps his ruler against his desk three times – the signal for everyone to Shut Up and Listen.  
“Hannah, you're needed at the front office,” Mr Lim announces in the drawling voice he saves for answering questions and reading about the Pilgrims, not looking up from his class notes.  
Hannah J, who sits two desks in front of Hannah, and has done since third grade, rises, her brightly beaded rows clattering cheerfully. Again comes the triple knock.  
“Hannah _Harris_ ,” Mr Lim clarifies, “you're needed at the front office. Take your things.”  
Hannah glances between Hannah J, Mr Lim, and his bag, before shaking his head. He heaves his bag back onto his shoulder, and tries not to listen as Hannah J leans over to whisper to her neighbor.  
“Her name's Hannah, too?”  
_Only technically,_ he doesn't say. _Not for long._  
_Maybe I'll be Steven. Or John,_ Hannah thinks, as he hurries from the classroom. _Or maybe James. I always liked 'James.'_  
He reports to the front office, only for the lady who works at the window, Mrs Acevedo, to tell him that 'his party' has already checked him out, and is waiting for him in the parking lot. He heads in that direction, ignoring the fluttering in his gut as he exits through the front gate before classes are over for the day.  
Hannah pauses for a moment, shoving the escaped strands of his long brown hair out of his face and back towards his messy ponytail. He spots what he's looking for not far away, light brown eyes landing on a well-used white car idling at the curb. His eldest sister, Emily, who usually sucks but not always, is in the driver's seat, tapping out an arrhythmic beat on the steering wheel.  
Hannah hurries in her direction, shifting his bag higher on his small shoulder, and is very nearly to the passenger side door when she rolls down the window.  
“Hannah, hurry up!” Emily calls.  
Hannah reaches the car not thirty seconds later and jiggles the door handle, which is, as usual, still locked.  
“Is something wrong?” he asks, knocking pointedly on the door. “Why'd you pull me outta class?”  
Emily rolls her eyes, unlocking the door with a flick of her fingers. “Mom's got a bug up her ass about something, says we have to come home.”  
Hannah frowns, pausing in the middle of letting his bag slide off his shoulder. He glances back at the entrance gate he's just come through.  
“Did she say why? Only, I got a Spanish test this afternoon.”  
“Please,” Emily scoffs with all the teenaged derision at her disposal. “The entire conversation consisted of her screeching at me to 'get your sister and get home!' and hanging up.”  
Hannah ignores the familiar sour twinge of hurt-irritation-guilt in his stomach brought on by her word choice and shifts his bag back onto his shoulder, reminding himself it's not really her fault he hasn't told her he's Not a Girl yet.  
“But-”  
“Would you just get in already?” Emily interrupts, opening the door for her sibling. “We gotta go.”  
Hannah looks one last time towards the entrance gate and sighs, finally letting his bag slide from his shoulder and swing into the car.  
Before he can follow it, however, or even release the strap, he feels a sudden tug at his midsection that jerks him back –  
one step  
two  
three  
and then, with one last desperate, pleading, terrified look to his big sister -  
Hannah vanishes into thin air.  
Emily is frozen for a moment, hand still outstretched to take her brother's bag, mouth half formed around some now forgotten word. A moment later, she bursts back into life, scrambling over the center console to exit the door her brother'd failed to enter. She searches for him, beneath the car, beneath and behind and around the cars nearest, all the time screaming his name hoping against hope that this was some sick attempt at a prank from a brother who'd never shown any such inclinations before.  
“Hannah! Hannah, this isn't funny! _**Hannah!”**_  



	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aurelia de Santo Perez dislikes waiting, for all that she is a patient woman.

Aurelia de Santo Perez dislikes waiting, for all that she is a patient woman.

Her dæmon, Maristella, a jet black vulture with bright red beak and talons, perches on the roof, occasionally adjusting her weight from foot to foot to avoid burning them in the morning heat. Aurelia herself is a tall, dark-skinned woman with long brown hair and dark brown eyes. She's dressed in the traditional outfit of the local desert nomads, with a white tunic, light brown pants and boots, and a tan headscarf, vest, and sash-belt with several pouches. She leans against her pickup – a beautiful machine, if she does say so herself, though of course it hadn't started out that way when she'd Borrowed it from the 70's, and almost useless for Wasteland travel until she'd got her hands on it. 

Aurelia checks the watch attached to her belt again, pulling her scarf lower on her forehead. Stella leans down and tugs on a strand of hair that's escaped her scarf. Aurelia absently tucks it back into place and returns her attention to the empty orange-red expanse of the Chuzoi Wasteland.

“He hasn't lied to us yet,” Aurelia reminds her dæmon, resolutely tucking her watch in its pouch.

“ _Yet_ ,” Stella retorts, “We don't even know when this arrival is supposed to _happen_.”

Any response Aurelia would have made is drowned out by a deep, resounding, bone rattling, dimension shattering _**CRACK**_ rolling out of the Wastes like thunder.

Aurelia shoots her dæmon a look and hops behind the wheel, gunning the gas and rocketing off into the Wastes as Stella takes to the skies above her. After a few minutes, Aurelia flips on the Tracker embedded in the dashboard. A faint green blip appears at the edge of the screen and she adjusts her course slightly to match. As soon as Stella catches sight of something, she calls down directions, fine tuning their trajectory.

They eventually pull up next to a suspicious lump in an otherwise completely flat section of the Wastes nestled between the dunes. Hopping out of the vehicle, Aurelia approaches the lump slowly, readying her magic just in case. The lump turns out to be two figures: an unconscious adolescent and their rangy bobcat dæmon curled protectively around each other, and covered in a thick layer of dirt.

Stella drifts down to examine the pair more closely, taking note of the kid's short brown hair and skin a few shades lighter than her partner's. They're maybe 12, dressed in pre-departure jeans, t-shirt, and a well-worn hoodie, with a strange red crystal dangling from a cord around their neck and a battered green backpack at their feet.

As soon as Stella gives her the all clear, Aurelia crouches next to the kid and passes her hand slowly over both child and dæmon, chanting a few diagnostic charms under her breath. Satisfied that they won't die while her responsibility, she charms them to sleep and floats them into the bed of the tuck, trusting in the built-in Cushioning Charms to prevent any sliding around. She secures a light tarp over the truck bed and hops back in the cab, Stella taking her customary place on the passenger seat headrest now that her job is done.

As they head back the way they came, neither witch nor dæmon notice the figure observing them from atop a distant dune, pit bull dæmon sitting impassively at his feet.


	3. Shifting Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman and her dæmon make a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember me?  
> I haven't actually given up on this fic! Updates are just slower as I find my way through it. Lemme know what you think?

Nani and her 'io dæmon, Keahi, blink at the figure on the flickering holo-screen, twin gazes equally unimpressed. Aurelia de Santo Perez stares back, her vulture dæmon very pointedly not looking at them.  
“You want me to what?” Nani asks, one thick, dark eyebrow rising in challenge.  
“Just take the kid to Greer, standard protocol and all that. It shouldn't be too hard for you,” Perez says, making an aborted move to cross her arms over her chest.  
“Standard Protocol dictates -”  
“That the discovering individual blah blah blah, I don't have time to escort this brat halfway across the Territory, ok?”  
Nani's gaze drops pointedly to the bloody knuckles of Perez's left hand. “Kid not take kindly to you?”  
“What? No, this is, it's nothing,” Perez hides the offending appendage behind her back. “I tripped. Look, would you just do it? Please?”  
Nani studies Perez for a moment, weighing her options. On her shoulder, Keahi tucks a stray strand of short dark hair behind her ear, sending her a rarely used signal.  
“Fine,” Perez's shoulders drop in ill-disguised relief, “on one condition.”  
“Name it.”  
“If I do this, we're square. No more favors.”  
Perez's vulture bristles briefly, before sagging in defeat.  
“Fine,” Perez concedes grudgingly. “He'll be ready to go when you get here.”  
The witch signs off abruptly, and Nani leans back in on her heels, tucking her holo back in its pouch on her belt. Her dæmon glides down to scratch absently at the dirt.  
“Are you sure about this?” Nani asks, shoving a hand through her windblown hair. “We could be doing a job that, you know, _actually pays_.”  
Her daemon lifts her face to the sun, closing her eyes in contemplation.  
“Yes,” she finally says, “This is more important.”  
“This time o' year, we'll be in the Wastes for weeks, waiting for the Railroad to get in.”  
“We've managed longer.”  
“Jek'll have our heads, we bring another Arrival near his kid.”  
“He'll live.”  
“We'll probably have to eat into our boat fund.”  
Keahi shuffles her wings, making a show of preening mottled feathers that aren't out of place.  
“We'll make more,” she finally said, meeting Nani's eyes steadily.  
“You have a Feeling.”  
It isn't a question. The 'io dæmon nods anyway.  
Nani nods back, satisfied. She adjusts her bag to sit more squarely on her shoulder and stands, holding out an arm for her daemon. She isn't surprised when the hawk ignores the proffered limb, taking to the sky instead.  
Nani settles her hood over her head, and follows her dæmon into the Wastes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this 'verse, I'm going with the idea that same sex dæmons don't really mean anything, it's just a quirk of genetics, like left handedness.  
> Also, I have no Beta, so any mistakes, etc are my own - feel free to let me know if I've made any glaring mistakes (nicely!)


	4. Q&A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James asks questions and gets answers, of a sort.

James kind of likes Ms. Aurelia's weird black bird, he decides, as he sits in the strange carved out room that he'd woken up in, and does his best not to stare at the cat laying next to him on the soft sort-of bed. The bird reminds him, in a roundabout way, of his all time favorite lunch monitor, Mrs Geller, who'd given him a butterscotch once for helping clear the tables, and always made sure the big kids played fair with the littler ones. She'd been an aloof sort of person, like the bird was an aloof sort of bird, and her hair was almost exactly the same shade of shiny inky black as the birds feathers. He wishes he could remember what sort of bird it is, the name tickling at the back of his mind, behind thoughts of 'where am I what's going on why is my body different' that he's ignoring as firmly as failing to ignore the reddish cat by his side.

He's pretty sure it's a bobcat – he'd seen one once on a nature show Emily had been watching for school, and though that one had been bigger (older), and less red, and had yellowish eyes, they still looked almost exactly the same. Besides, it doesn't look quite Right, and James can't figure out _why,_ any more than he can figure out why he's not scared _._ He should be scared, shouldn't he, since it's a predator, one that _talks_ , but he's just not, really.

Ms Aurelia doesn't seem to notice a problem, when she comes in with a bowl of thick soup and soft bread for lunch, her bird perching on a thick leather pad on her shoulder. She sits with him, and tells him someone's coming to get him, to help him get home, and that's fine. That's probably fine. It's not like he has a choice, anyway, and the soups good. He wants to ask for the recipe, so maybe he can try making it himself, when he gets home and takes his turn in the kitchen for dinner while Mom's at work, but she leaves before he can get the words out past the choking wall of _why am I here what's going on_ that he refuses to let past his lips.

He'd already asked, anyway, when he'd woken up, but he didn't hear the answers through his panic, and he doesn't think she'd appreciate repeating herself. He really doesn't want to make her mad. Her bird's talons look really sharp, and its beak looks mean, and he loses his nerve, though he doesn't understand why. It's as if the bird and the woman are The Same, though that doesn't make any sense, any more than waking up in this room made sense, or anything that's happened since.

Declan would understand. He'd be brave, and ask the questions, if he didn't already know the answers. James wishes Declan was here. Declan's not here, though, so James has to be brave instead. He takes a deep breath, then another, forcing his questions and doubts and panic back to the furthest part of him mind, and doesn't cry.

As if in answer, the bobcat shifts slightly, just enough to press its head against his leg. It's soft and warm. James lays a hand on the cat's head, the first time he's ever touched it, and doesn't wish to be home. At least, not out loud.

The cat meets his eyes, the exact same shade of light brown, and nudges closer.

“What are you?” James asks before he can stop himself, not really expecting an answer.

“You,” the cat replies, in a soft voice that sounds vaguely familiar, for all that he's never heard it before. “At least, I think so.”

James doesn't really know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything, choosing instead to run a tentative hand over the short fur beneath his palm. The bobcat purrs quietly, and it's comforting in a way, but also not quite right, the way the cat's not quite right.

“Are you a boy bobcat, or a girl bobcat?” he asks, because he doesn't want to assume, like everyone always assumed that he was Hannah and not James.

“A boy, probably. But I'm not a bobcat, I don't think,” the bobcat replies in its- _his_ quiet voice, shifting to rest his head on James's knee.

“You _look_ like a bobcat,” James says, head tilted slightly in his confusion. “Sort of.”

“You _looked_ like a girl, sort of.”

There's not really anything James can say to that, so he doesn't. The quiet stretches not quite comfortably.

“It's too sharp,” the Not a Bobcat says after a moment, surprising him. “Too loud. I'll probably change soon.”

“Change?”

In reply, the Not a Bobcat shifts, his edges blurring and warping until there's a smallish, adolescent dog where there was a cat, with thick red fur and soft eyes. Then the cat is back. James nods in understanding.

James wonders for a moment why he'd be a bobcat if it's so uncomfortable, but decides it doesn't really matter. 

_It's safer,_ he thinks, _A_ _t least, it feels safer, when he's big._

“Do you have a name?” he asks instead. The cat shakes his head. “Do you want one?”

The cat considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “Do I need one? I never did before.”

“I suppose not, if you don't want one. Some people are weird about names though, so maybe you could have a nickname? If people ask?” James proposes, thinking of Mr Felix who lived next door, and insisted on naming everything, even his plants.

“I suppose.” The cat thinks for a while, eyes half-closed in contemplation, then says, “Sunshine.”

“Sunshine?”

“Cause it's warm.”

This makes perfect sense. James nods.

Careful not to upset Sunshine's head from his lap, he grabs his bag from where Ms Aurelia had left it on the floor, and pulls out his notebook. He flips to a blank page, and settles in to draw, and wait for the person Ms Aurelia had said would be coming to get him. He hopes it won't take very long. He's even starting to miss Ellie.

 


End file.
